Harry Potter's Sixth Sense
by Prairie Flower617
Summary: New fic by the author of 'Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings'. Based on movieHarry's eight. Some characters may be a bit out of character. Please R&R! DISCONTINUED
1. Prologue

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A/n: Hey everybody! I decided to try a new fic. My other one, "Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings", is still being worked on, but due to TONS of schoolwork lately, I haven't had time to update. I haven't abandoned it, so expect a new chapter in a few weeks. I promise one by the end of June!! Anyway, please R&R, and enjoy Harry Potter's Sixth Sense! (btw—the whole fic is based on the movie, so Harry is about ten. Some people may seem out of character, but oh well! :)

Harry Potter's Sixth Sense

*~~**Prologue**~~*

A naked bulb dangling from a bare ceiling suddenly sparks to life, illuminating a shadowy basement. Against one wall is a wine rack, and near that is a desk, piled high with books, a tape recorder, and cassette tapes. Light, quick footsteps are heard as a young woman travels down the wooden stairs. She has dark hair, pulled into a bun, with some tendrils lining her face. She was wearing an elegant summer dress that outlined her slender body. Her dark eyes landed on the wine rack, and she approached it.

Anna Crowe browsed the rack, peering from one bottle to the next, until one caught her eye. She picked it up and went back to the stairs, one hand rubbing her arm as if she were cold. She ascended the stairs, and clicked off the light. The basement was plunged into darkness.

Anna Crowe entered the living room, where, on the table, were two dinners, each half eaten. Her husband, Malcolm Crowe, was standing, one hand on his hip, the other holding a half-empty wine glass. He was looking at a framed award in a chair in front of him. A jacket and overcoat lay on a couch nearby.

Anna put the backup wine bottle on the table, then pulled a white sweater on.

"It's getting cold," she said, handing Malcolm a gray sweatshirt. He placed his glass on the table and pulled it on.

Malcolm's intelligent eyes squinted as a pleased smile spread over his face. He pointed to the framed award in front of him. "That's one fine frame. A fine frame that is."

He sat on the couch behind him, as Anna kneeled on the floor next to him. "How much does a fine frame like that cost, you think?" he continued.

Anna handed the unopened backup bottle of wine to her husband. "I've never told you, but you sound a little like Dr. Seuss when you're drunk."

Malcolm uncorked the bottle and started pouring a glass. "Anna, I'm serious. Serious I am, Anna."

She giggled slightly, then turned thoughtfully to the frame. "Mahogany. I'd say that cost at least a couple hundred. Maybe three."

"Three?" came Malcolm's slightly drunk reply, "We should hock it. By a C.D. rack or something."

"Do you know how important this is? This is big time." Anna grinned at Malcolm. "I'm going to read it to you doctor."

"Do I really sound like Dr. Seuss?" he asked.

Anna leaned forward, squinting slightly at the award, and started to read it aloud.

"In recognition for his outstanding achievement in the field of child psychology, his dedication to his work, and his continuing efforts to improve the quality of life for countless children and their families, the City of Surrey proudly bestows upon its son Dr. Malcolm Crowe…that's you…the Mayor's Citation for Professional Excellence."

The couple sit in a few moments of silence.

"Wow," Anna said after a little while, "they called you their son."

"We can keep in the bathroom," Malcolm said, ruining the somber moment.

"This is an important night for us," she said, "Finally someone is recognizing the sacrifices you made. That you have put everything second, including me, for those families they're talking about." She takes his hands and hols them steady. "They're also saying that my husband has a gift. Not an ordinary gift that allows him to hit a ball over a fence. Or a gift that lets him produce beautiful images on a canvas. Your gift teaches children how to be strong in situations where most adults would piss on themselves."

Malcolm smiled softly. "Thank you," he said, as she let go of his hands.

Upstairs, in the dark bedroom, two giggling shadows enter the doorway and try to turn on the light. It doesn't turn on.

"Bulb's out," Malcolm said, as he crosses to the bathroom and turns on its light.

A shaft of light fell on Anna as she stood near the bed. She smiled playfully, peeling off her sweater while swaying to a pretend striptease song. Malcolm couldn't help but grin. He joined in and took off his sweatshirt. When he looked up, Anna was standing near the window, looking at the floor.

She looked up at him, her face showing her anxiety. Malcolm went over to her and saw what was wrong. The window was shattered, the bits of glass littering the floor, where a lamp lay broken.

A shadow from the bathroom passes over them. Anna screamed.

Malcolm slowly walked to the bathroom door, knowing that someone was inside. First, he saw clothes on the floor, then he saw the man standing in the back, bare chested. He looked to be about nineteen, drugged out, with scrathes and bruises all over his body. His dark eyes were wide with fear, and there was a patch of white hair mingling with the brown. He was holding his hands in front of him protectively, shaking slightly.

"Anna, don't move. Don't say a word," Malcolm said quietly. She nodded. Malcolm kept his eyes on the stranger, speaking a little more loudly this time. "This is 47 Locust Street. You have broken a window and entered a private residence. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

The man looked up. "You don't know so many things."

"There are no needles of prescription drugs of any kind in this house," Malcolm said, as the man walked forward into the doorway. Anna saw him and put a hand to her mouth.

"Do you know why you're scared when you're alone?" the man said, "I do. I do." He started whimpering.

"What do you want?" Malcolm asked cautiously.

"What you promised me," the man said bitterly.

"My God," Anna whispered.

"Do I know you?" Malcolm asked.

"I was ten when you worked with me," the man said, trembling slightly. Malcolm shook his head a little, still not knowing who the man was. The man took a breath and continued. "Downtown clinic? Single parent family? Possible mood disorder? I had no friends—you said I was socially isolated. I was afraid—you called it acute anxiety." He took a shuddering breath, pain evident on his face. "I'm still afraid…still afraid."

Malcolm thought hard. "Ben Freidken?"

"Some people call me freak," the man said tearfully. Anna looked horrified and was very pale.

"Ronald Summer?" Malcolm tried again.

"I am a freak," the man whispered to himself.

Something clicked in Malcolm's head. "Vincent? Vincent Gray?" The man, Vincent, looked at Malcolm, a little surprised. "I do remember you, Vincent. You were a good kid. Ver smart…quiet…compassionate…unusually compassionate."

"You forgot cursed," Vincent said, glaring at Malcolm.

Malcolm sighed. "Just give me a second to think," he said, closing his eyes wearily.

"I gave you ten years," Vincent said, his voice rising, "AND YOU FAILED ME!" He shouted as his fist pounded the door.

"Vincent, please," Malcolm pleaded.

Vincent started whimpering. "I don't want to ge scared anymore, I'm not a freak."

"Malcolm?" Anna whispered.

"I am a freak," Vincent whispered again. He turned and took something out of the sink. It was a black gun. He pointed it at Malcolm and pulled the trigger.

Malcolm clutched his stomach and collapsed on the bed behind him. As Anna rushed, screaming, to her wounded husband, Vincent raised the gun to his head, and, again, pulled the trigger.


	2. Meeting Harry Potter

*~~**Chapter 1**~~*

*~~**Meeting Harry Potter**~~*

It was a year later, during the first week of September. Dr. Malcolm Crowe is sitting on a bench, dressed in a dark overcoat in the middle of a suburban street in Surrey. He was looking at a worn file folder in his lap. On the first page, handwritten notes cover every line. The top of the page reads: "Vincent Gray, age 10, Referred January 19, 1979." Throughout the file there are words and phrases circled. Acute anxiety…Socially isolated…Possible mood disorder…Parent status—divorced…Communication difficulty between mother and child dyad.

Malcolm flipped the page, revealing a new one with a different heading: "Harry Potter, age 8, Referred September 1988." Again, as with Vincent's page, there are words and phrases circled on the page of notes. Acute anxiety…Socially isolated…Possible mood disorder…Parent status—deceased…Communication difficulty between Aunt and nephew dyad.

Malcolm closed the folder, his hands shaking slightly. The symptoms of both Vincent and Harry were so similar that it was scary. The only difference was that Harry lived with his Aunt, Uncle, and cousin. According to Malcolm's notes, Harry's Uncle and cousin were never actually concerned with Harry's odd behavoir. The Aunt seemed worried, although judging by what Malcolm had seen already, she seemed to keep her worries to herself and away from her husband and son.

Malcolm stared across the street from his sidewalk bench at a row of houses that seemed almost identical. He glanced to his left at the street sign—Privet Drive—and waited.

A door opened. Malcolm watched as a small eight-year-old boy stepped out of #4 Privet Dr. and closed the door. Harry Potter looked around nervously, anxiously, his large green eyes seeming to take everything in around him. His pitch black hair had a small patch of pure white, near his right ear. Harry stepped away from the door and slipped a pair of round-rimmed glasses onto his face. He tightened the strap of a shoulder bag and started walking down the street.

Malcolm stood up and picked up his folders. He looked up and saw that Harry had disappeared. Malcolm heard tiny sneakers screeching on the pavement. He looked around and saw Harry running at full speed down Privet Drive. He turned a corner, and Malcolm started to follow him.

After a few minutes of chasing after the running boy, Malcolm sees Harry run across an empty parking lot to an old building. Harry reached the door and used all of his strength to pull open the heavy door. As Harry slipped inside the building, Malcolm looked up at the old Surrey church. Then he walked across the lot and slipped inside.

There are only a few people sitting and praying among the sea of oak pews. Malcolm looked around and walked towards a small voice near the back of the church. Crouching low in his pew, Harry was playing with a set of small green and beige plastic soldiers. He was holding one while making it talk. Malcolm caught a few words. "Pro…fun…add…" Malcolm sat down on the pew in front of Harry, turned so that he could see him. Harry immediately went still, his body rigid and pale.

"It's okay, Harry. Don't be frightened," Malcolm said quietly.

Harry shot a nervous glance at Malcolm, his small hands clutching his plastic soldiers.

"My name is Dr. Malcolm Crowe," Malcolm said, "I was supposed to meet you today. Sorry I missed our appointment."

Harry still watched Malcolm, not saying a thing. Malcolm looked closely at him, noticing that the glasses were rather large, and seemed to be taped together.

"Your glasses," he said, "they seem to be broken."

"It's nothing," Harry said, very quietly; Malcolm could barely hear him.

"Ah," Malcolm looked at Harry's soldiers. "What were you saying before with your soldiers? Day pro fun?"

"De profundis clamo ad te domine," Harry said softly, "It's called Latin," he added upon seeing Malcolm's surprised look.

"Do all your soldiers speak Latin?"

"No," Harry said, raising one soldier, "just one."

Malcolm began to smile, but it faded as he saw the state of Harry's wrists. They were covered in tiny cuts and bruises; some healing, some fresh. Malcolm looked around to gather himself.

"You know, in olden times people used to hide in churches. Claim sanctuary."

Harry sat up, interested. "What were they hiding from?"

"Oh, lots of things, I suppose. Bad people for one. People who wanted to imprison them. Hurt them."

"Nothing bad can happen in a church, right?"

Malcolm studied Harry's anxious face before answering. "Right."

For a few moments, they both just watched each other.

"I forgot you name," Harry said after a while.

"Dr. Crowe."

"You're a doctor. What kind?"

"I work with young people who might be sad or upset or just want to talk. I try to help them figure things out."

"Are you a good doctor?"

Malcolm smiled. "I got an award once, from the Mayor."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you, it was a long time ago."

Harry rose from his pew, slipping his soldiers into his shoulder bag. "I'm going to see you again, right?"

"If it's okay with you," Malcolm said, looking at him.

Harry thought for a while. "It's okay with me," he said.

"And Harry, next time I won't be late."

"And next time I won't be scared."

Malcolm nodded as Harry walked to the doors. As he passed a back table, he quickly grabbed a small statue of Jesus and slipped it into his bag. Malcolm stared as Harry slipped out of the doors and out of sight.


	3. Out of the depths, I cry to you, O Lord

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A/n: Okay, short chapter here, but I'm posting two. I just realized that I hadn't posted a Disclaimer (I'm so naughty J ), so now the first chapter is the Disclaimer, THEN the prologue.

I'd also like to thank all of my reviewers (I've got 4!! Yeah me!!!) I'll update again once I reach 7. (Hopefully a number like that will bring me some luck-I really need it.)

Anyway, enjoy. And please remember to review!

*~~**Chapter 2**~~*

*~~**Out of the depths, I cry to you, O Lord**~~*

Later that evening, Malcolm returned to his home. The house was dimly lit, and he turned on a hallway light.

"I'm home!" he called out. There was no answer. "Anna?" He took off his overcoat and placed it on a chair in his living room.

Malcolm went through one hall and stopped at the entrance to the kitchen. Looking in, he saw the half-eaten remains of the one meal; the fork and knife crossed on the plate, the red napkin folded neatly.

Malcolm went upstairs into the bedroom and saw his wife asleep on the bed, huddled under a bright red blanket. There was a wad of tissues in her hand. Malcolm's eyes moved to Anna's face. A small wisp of her hair fell over her face as she shifted slightly. Outlined in the soft light produced by her reading lamp, Anna Crowe truly looked like an angel. Malcolm smiled.

Malcolm left her and went downstairs. He headed for a door near the stairs, and turned the red doorknob. It didn't open. He searched his pockets for his keys. No keys.

Malcolm abandoned the locked door and entered the basement. In a corner near the wine racks, there was a desk surrounded with file cabinets and boxes of psychology and medical books.

He went to his desk and took out Harry's file. Opening to the first page, he glanced at the new handwritten words: "De profundis clamo ad te domine."

Malcolm stood and looked over some books piled on a shelf. He pulled out an old, thick, dusty book and placed on his desk next to the open file. The front read "The Meridian Latin Dictionary."

Malcolm took out a blue pen and started flipping through the book, jotting down the English translations of the Latin words. After a while, he wrote down the last word and closed the book, looking at the new words.

"Out of the depths, I cry to you, O Lord."


	4. Cabinets and Drawers

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A/n: Oh my God!! I asked for 7 reviews and I got almost twice that much!!! Anyway, for all you impatient readers out there (you know who you are) here is the next chapter of Harry Potter's Sexth Sense

*~~**Chapter 3**~~*

*~~**Cabinets and Drawers**~~*

In Number Four, Privet Drive, the family was getting ready for the day. Vernon Dursley had just left for work at his drill company, Grunnings, and Dudley was currently sitting at the kitchen table, munching on his bacon and eggs. A small bowl of cereal and milk are sitting on the other end of the table, untouched.

Petunia Dursley entered the kitchen and turned off the small radio, shutting off the morning news.

"Hey," Dudley said loudly, "I was listening to that."

"Hurry up and get your school things, Dudley," Petunia said, spotting her son's empty plate, "your friend will be here soon."

Dudley got up, straightened the tie of his school uniform, then left the kitchen.

Petunia went over to the dryer, where a small dog with two different colored eyes sat playing with the newly dried clothes. Petunia reached in and pulled out a blouse. She shook it in the air and put it on, dressing hurriedly so she could begin her daily job of cleaning the house.

Chewing on an early morning piece of Trident, Petunia went back into the kitchen, shaking her head at the handful of cabinets and drawers that were open. She walked over and started closing them one by one.

"Harry!" she called, moving towards the coffee machine. She shivered, then leaned over the thermostat and turned the heat up.

Tiny footsteps entered the room. Petunia turned and saw Harry walking to the table, dressed in his school uniform.

"Hurry up and eat, Harry. Your Cocoa Puffs are getting soggy."

Harry sat down and was about to eat when Petunia noticed something. She walked over and looked at his tie. "You got a spot," she said. She unclipped his tie and headed to the dryer to find a new one.

The dog hid his head as Petunia searched the laundry for a new tie. She found one and, then stepped back into the kitchen and let out a short scream.

Every cabinet and every drawer were wide open. Harry was sitting at the table, his hands pressed flat on the tabletop. He looked shaken.

"Something you looking for, Harry?" Petunia said in a quavering voice.

"Pop Tarts," Harry said, his voice small and shaking.

Petunia looked over at the cabinet over the sink. The Pop Tarts were clearly visible. "They're right here."

"Oh."

Petunia rubbed her forehead, thinking.

"What are you thinking, Aunt Petunia?" Harry said.

"Lots of things."

"Anything bad about me?"

Petunia looked up at Harry's hopeful expression. She leaned down in front of him. "Look at my face," she said. Harry did. "I wasn't thinking anything bad about you, alright?"

"Alright," Harry said quietly.

The doorbell rang. Dudley stampeded down the stairs and opened the front door. From the kitchen, Harry and Petunia heard him yell, "Piers and Tommy are here, Mom!"

Harry stood and picked up his backpack from the floor.

"Don't you want this?" Petunia asked, holding up a package of Pop Tarts. Harry ran over and took them, then left.

Petunia sighed and looked at the table. Two tiny hand prints were starting to fade from the table's black surface. She stared at them until they disappeared.

Petunia moved to a window upstairs, watching as Dudley and Piers reached the end of the street.

Harry rushed out onto the sidewalk to meet Tommy Tammisimo, a tough-looking, eight-year-old Italian kid dressed in his school uniform. The two boys began their walk to school. Tommy put his arm around Harry's shoulder. Petunia waved through the window and Harry waved back.

When the two boys turned a corner and were out of Petunia's sight, Tommy immediately ripped his arm off of Harry.

"Hey freak," Tommy said in a superior tone, "how'd ya like the "arm around your shoulder" bit. I just made it up. Went with it. That's what all great actors do. It's called improv." Tommy ran ahead and left Harry by himself.

Harry stood in the middle of the large sidewalk in front of his school, watching as all the rest of the uniformed boys and girls rushed in as the final bell sounded. He looked as though he'd rather be anywhere but there. Sighing, Harry buried his hands in his pockets and quietly walked into the school.


	5. Mind Games

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A/n: Woohoo! Another chapter! I'm an a roll! And just to let all those people out there who are waiting for the new chapter of "Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings", it should be posted in a few days. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, they've really helped me think about how to have this story progress. Anyway, please read and review!

*~~**Chapter 4**~~*

*~~**Mind Games**~~*

Malcolm Crowe and Petunia Dursley were both seated in chairs next to the entrance of the Dursley's den. They both looked up as the front door opened. Dudley ran through and immediately headed for the kitchen. Harry walked in a few seconds later and quietly closed the door. As though he could feel the eyes watching him, he turned and looked into the den.

Petunia got up and went to kneel in front of Harry, whose eyes were glued to Malcolm. He only looked away when his Aunt placed her hands on his arms.

"How was school, Harry?" Petunia whispered.

Harry shrugged.

"You know, you can tell me things if you need to," Petunia replied, trying her best not to look too worried.

Harry didn't respond, although he did glance in Malcolm's direction for a brief moment.

"Well," Petunia said, crossing her arms on her knee, "you know what I did today?"

Harry shook his head.

"Well, I won the lottery in the morning and ate a big picnic in the park with lots of chocolate mouse pie. Spent the rest of the afternoon swimming in the fountain. What did you do?" She added, smiling.

Harry started to smile and thought for a bit. "I was picked first for kickball teams at recess," he whispered, "I hit a grand slam to win the game and everyone lifted me up on their shoulders and carried me around cheering."

Petunia smiled at her nephew, trying to hide her utter sadness behind it. Dudley's shout broke the momentary silence and Petunia left to see what he wanted.

Harry watched her leave, then turned towards the den, where Malcolm was watching him. Malcolm sat up and smiled.

"You want to sit?" Malcolm asked, pointing to the chair on the other side of the coffee table.

Harry shook his head, never taking his eyes off of Malcolm.

"Don't you feel like talking?"

Harry shook his head again.

"Alright then," Malcolm said, "then how about we play a game?"

Harry looked a little interested.

"It's a mind-reading game," Malcolm continued, "Did I mention I could read minds?"

Harry shook his head.

"Here's the game," Malcolm said, "I'll read your mind. If what I say is right, you take one step towards the chair. If what I say is wrong, you take one step towards the door. If you reach the chair, you sit. If you reach the door, you can go. Deal?"

Harry tilted his head, thinking, then nodded.

Malcolm put his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes tight. After a few seconds, he looked up at Harry. "You've heard that your Aunt went to see a doctor like me not long after your parents died. It didn't help her. So you think I'm not going to help you."

Harry, surprised, took one small step forward.

Malcolm continued. "Your worried because she told him things. Things she couldn't tell anybody else. Secrets." Harry took another step. Malcolm looked at him. "You have a secret, but you don't want to tell me."

Harry took another step, only one away from the chair. Malcolm lowered his fingers. "You don't have to tell me your secret if you don't want to," he whispered.

Malcolm returned his fingers to his mind-reading position. Looking at Harry's arm, he saw that Harry was wearing a large silver watch. 

"That watch used to belong to your father," Malcolm said, "your relatives gave it to you as a gift."

To Malcolm's surprise, Harry took a step back. "Found it in the attic," Harry said quietly, "It doesn't work."

Malcolm tried again, this time taking longer to think. He looked at Harry's school uniform. "You don't like to say much at school," he said, "You're an excellent student however. You've never been in any kind of serious trouble."

Harry took another step back. "We were supposed to draw a picture," he said softly, "Anything we wanted…I drew a man. He got hurt in the neck by another man with a screwdriver."

The den was filled with an uncomfortable silence.

"You saw that on T.V., Harry?" Malcolm whispered.

Harry answered by taking another step back. "Everyone got upset. They had a meeting. Aunt Petunia started crying. I don't draw like that anymore."

"How do you draw now?"

"People smiling…dogs running…rainbows. They don't have meetings about rainbows," Harry added resentfully.

"No," Malcolm added, "I guess they don't." He looked down at Harry's feet. One more step backwards and Harry would be at the door. Harry noticed him looking.

"What am I thinking now?" he whispered.

Malcolm slowly looked up at him, thinking. This time he wasn't playing any games. "I don't know what you're thinking, Harry."

Harry took the last step back. "I was thinking…you're nice. But you can't help me," he added bitterly, before leaving the room.

Malcolm stared helplessly at the empty doorway where his client used to stand. The den was filled with a suffocating silence.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Malcolm hurriedly entered a spacious, dimly-lit Italian restaurant. He spotted Anna sitting at a small table, wearing a bright red dress. Her half-eaten meal lay before her, while she nursed a cup of coffee.

Malcolm quickly made his way through the room and sat down on the chair opposite her that was already pulled out.

"I'm so sorry, I can't seem to keep track of time," Malcolm said.

Anna took a sip of her coffee, her eyes on the tabletop.

"It didn't go well today," Malcolm continued, "They're so similar, Anna. They have the same mannerisms, expressions, the same thing hanging over them. It might be some kind of abuse."

Anna looked around for a waiter then turned back to the table.

"There are cuts on Harry's arms," Malcolm said, "Fingernail marks, I think. Looks like defensive cuts. Probably a teacher, or neighbor. I don't think it's the Aunt, just a gut thing. The way she deals with him, it doesn't fit." He broke off, thinking. "It could be the Uncle, or the cousin. They certainly seem violent enough. It's really hard to say this early. Could just be a child climing a lot of trees."

A waiter dropped off the check on the table. Malcolm reached for it, but Anna took it and quickly signed it.

"Anna, please listen," Malcolm said, a little desperately as she gathered her handbag, "I know you're mad, but I'm getting a second chance here. I can't let it slip away."

Anna stood and pushed in her chair. "Happy Anniversary," she whispered, as though to herself. Malcolm watched her walk away sadly.


	6. Discussions and Photos

*~~**Discussions and Photos**~~*

"Stop looking at me," Harry said irritably, "I don't like people looking at me like that."

Harry and Malcolm were walking down a sidewalk near Harry's home. Harry had on his shoulder bag and one of his hands was clutching it tightly. Malcolm strode alongside him, dressed in his brown trenchcoat, his folders under one arm.

"You know," Harry said after a while, "I walk this way to school with Tommy Tammisimo."

"He your best buddy?" Malcolm asked.

Harry almost smiled. "He hates me."

"Do you hate him?"

"No."

"Did your Aunt set that up?"

"Yes."

"You ever her about how it is with Tommy?" Malcolm asked, as he and Harry paused at an intersection.

"I don't tell her things," Harry replied quietly, looking away.

"Why?"

"Cause she doesn't look at me like everybody does and I don't want her to. I don't want her to know," Harry said in a rush.

"Know what?"

Harry looked at the ground, frowning. "That I'm a freak."

Malcolm froze. He turned sharply to Harry, his expression serious and slightly angry. "Listen to me. You are not a freak. Don't you believe anybody that tells you that. It's bullshit and you don't have to grow up believing that."

Malcolm started crossing the street, with Harry left behind, staring. He quickly got moving again and caught up with him. Malcolm looked down and saw that Harry was looking up at him, his expression awed.

"What?" Malcolm asked.

"You said the 's' word," Harry said in a surprised tone.

"Yeah, sorry."

They continued down the street.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Petunia was holding a laundry basket on her hip, moving from room to room, cleaning. She paused outside the master bedroom and zipped up her pale blue winter sweater. She turned up the thermostat, wondering why it was so cold.

As she moved through the hall, her eyes stopped on a wall of photos. Almost all had Dudley, herself, and her husband in them. Very few, possible four or five, contained a snapshot of Harry with them. Petunia smiled slightly as she gazed at her family's life hanging before her.

Her eyes paused an a picture with a four-year-old Harry in it. Her face clearly shows that she had just noticed something she never noticed before. She leaned forward, peering closely at the picture.

Near the large four-year-old Dudley who was sitting with his father, sat the four-year-old Harry. He was crossed-legged, perched atop a cement railing in the park. His large green eyes were facing the viewer, his expression passive. To the right of him was a streak of light, slightly curved; it looked like something that had been caught in motion.

Petunia moved to another photo that had Harry in it. This time a picture of a barbecue, which had been taken just that summer. Sitting far away from Dudley and his friends, the seven-year-old Harry was, again, accompanied by another odd streak of light. Petunia looked at all the pictures that had Harry in them. In each one there was a streak of light near Harry, who was always away from the main occupants of the picture.

She took this all in curiously.


	7. Upset Words and Goals

*~~**Chapter 6**~~*

*~~**Upset Words and Goals**~~*

Petunia was continuing her job of cleaning the house. She opened the door of Dudley's second bedroom, where all of Dudley's things that didn't fit in his room were. About a year ago, Vernon had reluctantly allowed Harry to use the room as well, but only after Dudley had complained about Harry using the living room to play and do his homework.

In one corner, away from Dudley's things, Harry had set up his own little area. Most of it was taken up by a homemade tent made from red blankets tied to old chairs and shelves. A paper sign hung on the entrance: 'Do Not Enter'. Near the tent was an old desk with a rickety chair that Harry had moved to do his homework on.

As Petunia moved around the room, picking up articles of clothing that had managed to find their way into the room, Sebastian, the puppy with two different colored eyes, looked up from his spot in a corner. He peered sleepily at Petunia then lowered his head to continue his nap.

Petunia noticed sheets of loose leaf paper scattered over the small desk, each covered with writing. She drew nearer and as the words became clearer, her curious gaze turned serious as her mouth parted slightly. The papers were strewn with lines of handwriting, some horizontal, some vertical. The writing moved in one continuous pen stroke, each written at great speed.

She slowly turned the top paper, reading Harry's messy handwriting…

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…Christ break the freaking glass oh no God no what the hell is going on Quiet the damn baby I'll cut you I swear it someone stop the burning I'll kill you I'll kill all you bastards…the words went on and on.

Petunia stared at the papers as the house was filled with an odd, eerie silence.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Malcolm was sitting on the couch of the den, watching the rain pelting the windows. Harry was crouched behind the couch, playing with something unseen.

"So your uncle works in a big drill company in the city?" Malcolm asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, one hand placing a plastic soldier on the back of the couch.

"Hmm," Malcolm stared across the room and for a moment, watched as Harry took the soldier down again.

"You asked a lot of questions about my uncle today. How come?" Harry asked from behind the couch.

"Sometimes, we don't even know it, but we do things to draw attention. Do things so we can express how we feel about issues... Death or whatever," Malcolm said quietly, "you know, leave something out on a desk for someone to find."

Harry stopped moving.

"Harry, have you ever heard of something called free-association writing?" Malcolm continued.

"No."

"It's when you put a pencil in your hand and put the pencil to a paper and you just start writing. You don't think about what you're writing... you don't read over what you're writing... you just keep your hand moving. After awhile if you keep your hand moving long enough, words and thoughts start coming out you didn't even know you had in you... sometimes they're things you heard from somewhere... sometimes they're feelings deep inside," Malcolm paused, "Have you ever done any free-association writing, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry said after a moments silence.

"What'd you write?"

"Words."

"What kind of words?"

"Upset words."

"How long have you been writing these upset words, Harry?" Malcolm asked grimly.

Harry hesitated. "I don't remember," he said finally.

Malcolm sighed softly, then stood and started to pull on his trench coat. "Harry, I want you to think about what you want from our time together. A goal."

Harry stood up, one hand clutching a plastic soldier. "Something I want?"

Malcolm nodded. "If you could change anything in your life, anything at all, what would that be?"

Harry's brow furrowed as he thought carefully. "Instead of something I want, can it be something I don't want?" he said after a while.

Malcolm nodded.

Harry took a deep breath. "I don't want to be scared anymore," he said, his sad eyes staring up at Malcolm.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Malcolm was sitting at his desk in the basement, surrounded by open books. Leaning over a thick reference book, Malcolm circled a phrase: "resulting bruises and abrasions on arms and legs may, in fact, be self-inflicted." He appeared disturbed by the thoughts running through his head.

Malcolm looks up as someone knocks on the front door. "Are you gonna get that?" he called. The person knocked again. "Are you gonna get that?"

Malcolm heard the front door open and listened as Anna greeted the visitor.

"Sean, what are you doing here?" Anna's voice said.

"I was on my way to the flea market in the Amish country. Thought maybe you would want to come."

"I don't know," Anna replied, "I don't know if I'm up for the Amish today. You can't curse or spit or anything around them."

"I thought you'd want to get out. You've been kind of down lately."

"That's very sweet. I'm okay."

"Do you think I should stop by on my way back? Show you what I got?"

"You know that's probably not the best idea. I'll just wait to see them in the store."

"Okay, fine, I understand," Sean said defeatedly, "I'm off then."

"Don't step in the horse manure," Anna said, before closing the door.

Malcolm moved to the basement window. He watched as Sean stepped away from the door and headed for his car. Sean stopped, stepped back towards the door, then turned away. He reached his car, turned back to the house, then turned away again. When he reached the car door, Sean turned to the house again.

"Keep moving, cheese-dick," Malcolm muttered.

Sean got into his car and drove away.


End file.
